My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 155

Torin

Nothing makes a man feel smaller than another man’s scent hanging off the woman he just finished crying over.

I was still on my knees, my left eye a hot, throbbing lump of purple meat that felt like it was going to slide off my cheekbone. Every breath was a wheezing struggle through a nose that had been flattened by Yvara’s fist. The metallic tang of my own blood was thick in my mouth, but the smell in the room was worse. It was the scent of the North—pine, cold iron, and the sharp, musky reek of a man who had just finished pounding the southern rot out of the Queen.

Irina stood in the doorway, clutching the shredded ruins of her crimson silk. She looked like a mess, but she still had that same arrogant tilt to her chin that used to make me want to worship her. Now, it just made me want to vomit.

"Irina..." I wheezed, blood bubbling from my nose. "Where were you? What have you done?".

She didn't even look at me. Not really. She was looking at the knife Yvara had pressed against my windpipe.

My mind slipped back, to the first time I’d been between her legs. It was a dinner Aldric had hosted in the royal palace back in Valdris. We were supposed to be talking about the western borders and recent issues with the trade routes. I wasn't even the chief advisor then. I was just another Lord in a fancy attire, trying to look important while the King ignored me.

Irina had been bored. I remember the way she looked at me over the rim of her wine glass. It wasn't love. It was a challenge. We ended up in a supply closet before the third course was served. I thought I was a god because I was fucking the King's wife and he didn't have a clue.

Now, looking at her in this freezing abattoir, I realized I was just the help. She had left my bed, called me dead weight, and gone straight for the next person who could give her what she wanted.

"What's going on?" Irina whispered.

Yvara tilted her scarred head and let out a raspy, amused huff. She didn't move the knife.

"Your friend here was trying to steal a horse," Yvara said, her voice like gravel being ground into a wound. "He’s a terrible liar, Irina.".

Yvara looked down at me, her eyes like two pieces of cold flint.

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